Part 3 (2/2)

One of the most beautiful and pathetic stories of this whole period, however, is the one which concerns the fate of Madonna Francesca, daughter of Guido the Elder, Lord of Ravenna and of Cervia. For many years, according to Boccaccio's account, Guido had waged a grievous war with the Lord Malatesta of Rimini, and finally, when peace was brought about between them through the mediation of friends, it was thought advisable to cement the friends.h.i.+p with as close a tie as possible. To that end, Guido agreed to give his fair young daughter, Francesca, in marriage to Gianciotto, Malatesta's son, without a thought to her own desires in the matter. When the plan was noised abroad, certain friends of Guido, knowing Gianciotto to be lame and rather rough in his manners, and considering it very doubtful whether Francesca would consent to marry him when once she had seen him, came to the father and urged him to act with discretion, so that no scandal might arise over the matter.

It happened that there was a younger son of the house of Malatesta, Paolo by name, who was young and handsome and possessed of most courtly and winning manners, and it was advised that he be sent to marry Francesca by proxy in his brother's stead, and that she should be kept in ignorance regarding the real state of affairs until it was too late to withdraw her word. So Paolo came to Ravenna with a brilliant train of gentlemen to celebrate the wedding festivities; and as he crossed the courtyard of the palace on the morning of his arrival, a maid who knew him pointed him out to Francesca through the open window, saying: ”That is he who is to be your husband.” This Francesca believed, as she had no reason to think otherwise, so skilfully was the marriage ceremony arranged, and it was not until her arrival at Rimini that she knew her fate. For there, on the morning following her coming, as she saw Gianciotto rise from her side, when she had thought him to be Paolo, the sad truth burst upon her. What excuses Paolo could give for this strange deception we are not told, but the fact remains that Francesca still loved him, and looked with scorn upon his misshapen brother. From that time the dangerous moment slowly approached. Living together in the same palace, it was but natural that Paolo and Francesca should be much in each other's society; while Gianciotto, unloved and unlovely, busied himself with his own affairs, which sometimes took him to other cities, as he was a man of ambition and essayed by political manoeuvres to advance his own interests. It happened once that in returning from one of these journeys he saw Paolo enter Francesca's room, and then for the first time he became jealous. Hitherto he had known of their affection for each other, but it had never dawned upon him that his own brother could thus betray his trust, while under his roof and receiving his protection. Now he rushed up the broad stairway and made straight for Francesca's door, anxious to know the worst. The door was found locked before him, and his hurried knocks brought sudden terror to the lovers within. There was an open window, however, through which Paolo counted upon disappearing, and so he bade the lady make haste to open to her lord, that he might not be curious. As Francesca opened the door, Paolo found to his dismay that the edge of his cloak had caught upon a nail; so that when Gianciotto, red with anger, burst into the room, the fatal secret was disclosed. Grasping his dagger, without a moment's hesitation, he stepped quickly to the window and would have slain his brother with a single mighty blow, but Francesca, throwing herself before him, sheathed the dagger in her heart and fell dead at his feet.

Gianciotto, still burning for revenge, and unmoved by his first b.l.o.o.d.y deed, again struck at Paolo, and this time he slew him. Then, following the words of the old story, ”leaving them both dead, he hastily went his way and betook him to his wonted affairs; and the next morning the two lovers, with many tears, were buried together in one grave.”

There is a terrible pathos about this story which has made it live during all these years. Through every line of it runs a commentary upon the barbarous customs of the time, which made such a situation possible, and its climax was so inevitable and so necessary, according to all the laws of nature, that we of a later day are inclined to shed a sympathetic tear and heave a sigh of regret.

Dante has placed the two lovers in his _Inferno_ for their sin, but in the fifth canto, where he first sees them, he is moved to such pity for their unhappy lot that he exclaims:

”...Francesca, i tuoi martiri A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio!”

[Thine agonies, Francesca, sad and compa.s.sionate to weeping make me!]

And before she finished telling her tragic story, he swooned away as if he had been dying, ”and fell, even as a dead body falls.”

In a more recent time this story has been told by Silvio Pellico, who wrote a tragedy on the subject, and by Leigh Hunt in a poem. In England, Boker wrote a successful tragedy upon it many years ago, and more recently Stephen Phillips, in his _Paolo and Francesca_, has produced a dramatic poem of rare merit. Most recently of all, Gabriele d'Annunzio, the well-known Italian poet and novelist, has made this story the subject of a powerful drama, which was interpreted in a most wonderful way by the great Italian actress, Eleonora Duse. To show that others than poets have been inspired by Francesca's unhappy history, it may be of interest to record the fact that noted pictures ill.u.s.trating the story have been painted by many of the greatest artists.

To return to that early period in Italian history, so filled with strife and discord, it should be said that in spite of this constant warfare, the richer princes, especially in the north of Italy, lived in a most sumptuous manner, and prepared the way, to a certain degree, for the splendor of Lorenzo the Magnificent, which was to appear in the century following. The women in these regal courts were clothed in the most extravagant fas.h.i.+on, and the precious stuffs and precious stones of all the known world were laid at their feet by their admirers. Among these affluent n.o.blemen of the fourteenth century, Galeazzo Visconti was generally considered the handsomest man of his age. Symonds tells us that he was tall and graceful, with golden hair which he wore in long plaits, or tied up in a net, or else loose and crowned with flowers. By nature he was fond of display, liked to make a great show of his wealth, and spent much money in public entertainments and feasts and in the construction of beautiful palaces and churches. His wealth was so great and his reputation had gone so far abroad that he was able to do what other rich Italian n.o.blemen accomplished in a somewhat later time--arrange royal marriages for some of his children. His daughter Violante was wedded with great ceremony to the Duke of Clarence, son of Edward III. of England, who is said to have received with her as a dowry the sum of two hundred thousand golden florins, and at the same time five cities on the Piedmont frontier. London was a muddy, unpaved city at this time, primitive in the extreme; the houses were still covered with thatched roofs, beds were still made upon bundles of straw cast upon the floors, and wine was so scarce that it was generally sold for medicinal purposes. It has been pointed out that it must have been a strange experience for this English n.o.bleman to leave all that and come to a country of warmth and suns.h.i.+ne, where the houses were large and comfortable and made of marble, where the streets were dry and paved, where wine was as plenty as water, and where ease and luxury were seen on every hand.

This royal marriage was celebrated at Pavia, where Galeazzo held his court, and the historian Giovio has given some curious and interesting details regarding it. He says that on the completion of the ceremony Galeazzo gave rich gifts to more than two hundred Englishmen, and it was generally considered that he had shown himself more generous than the greatest kings. At the wedding feast, Gian Galeazzo, the bride's brother,--who was afterward married to Isabella, the daughter of King John of France,--at the head of a band of n.o.ble youths, brought wonderful new gifts to the table with the arrival of each new course upon the bill of fare. ”At one time it was sixty most beautiful horses, adorned with gold and silver trappings; at another, silver plate, hawks, hounds, fine cuira.s.ses, suits of armor of wrought steel, helmets decorated with crests, tunics adorned with pearls, belts, precious jewels set in gold, and great quant.i.ties of cloth of gold and crimson stuff for the making of garments. Such was the profusion at this banquet that the remnants taken from the table were more than enough to supply ten thousand men.” Not every heiress in Italy could have gloried in such a wedding feast as the one given in honor of Violante Visconti, but the wealth of these petty rulers was something almost incredible, and the general prosperity of the common people pa.s.ses belief. As has always been the case under such circ.u.mstances, increasing wealth has brought about increased expenditure, princ.i.p.ally in matters of dress, and the women in particular seem to have made the most of this opportunity.

Vanity and frivolity multiplied on every hand as a natural consequence; the Church was growing daily less able to cope with the moral degeneracy of the time on account of its own immoral condition; thus, the foundations were being laid for those centuries of corruption and national weakness which were soon to follow.

CHAPTER VII

WOMEN IN THE LATER RENAISSANCE

The age of Lorenzo de' Medici--that bright fifteenth century--in the history of the Italian peninsula was signalized by such achievement and definite result in the intellectual emanc.i.p.ation of the minds of men, art and poetry were given such an impetus and showed promise of such full fruition, that he who would now conjure up the picture of that fair day is well-nigh lost in wonderment and awe. But in this love of art and wors.h.i.+p of the beautiful it soon becomes apparent that pagan influences were stealing into daily life, and that the religion of the Christian Church was fast becoming an empty form which had no value as a rule of conduct. Blind faith in the power of the Vicar of Christ to forgive the sins of this world still remained, and in that one way, perhaps, did the Church manage to exist throughout this period; for men, sinful and irreligious and blasphemous as they certainly were, were none the less so impressed with the possibilities of suffering in a future state that they insisted upon priestly absolution--which they accepted with implicit confidence--before setting out upon their journey into the Unknown. The most terrible crimes were matters of common occurrence and were allowed to go unrebuked, at least by the moral sentiment of the community; adultery was too frequent, murder caused little comment, and incest was not unknown. The pursuit of pleasure was of no less importance than the pursuit of fame and glory; the Italian idea of honor was in perfect harmony with deceit and treachery; and unclean living, and a married woman was considered above reproach so long as she did not allow her acts of infidelity to become known to all the world.

In an age of this kind it cannot be said that the women occupied a position which is to be envied by the women of to-day. It is not to be expected that the women will show themselves better than the men at such a time, and when was there a better opportunity for vice to run riot?

The convents of the time were, almost without exception, perfect brothels, and the garb of the virgin nun was shown scant respect--and was ent.i.tled to still less. Venice became a modern Corinth, and was a resort for all the profligates of the continent; it was estimated that there were twelve thousand prost.i.tutes within its gates at the beginning of the fifteenth century. A century later, Rome counted no less than seven thousand of these unsavory citizens, and they, with their villainous male confederates, who were ever ready to rob, levy blackmail, or commit murder, did much to make the Holy City almost uninhabitable in the days of Pope Innocent VIII. As Symonds has said, the want of a coordinating principle is everywhere apparent in this Italian civilization; the individual has reached his personal freedom, but he has not yet come to a comprehension of that higher liberty which is law; pa.s.sions are unbridled, the whim of the moment is an all-compelling power, and the time was yet far in the distance when society could feel itself upon a firm foundation.

From all that can be learned, it appears that women were not treated with any special respect; men were free to indulge in the most ribald conversation in their presence, and it has yet to be proved that they took offence at this unbecoming liberty. The songs which were composed at Carnival time were dedicated to the ladies especially, and yet in all literature it would be difficult to find anything more indecent. Society was simply in a crude state so far as its ideas of decency and delicacy were concerned, and both men and women were often lacking in what are now considered to be the most elementary notions of propriety. As the men were by far the more active and the more important members of each community, it cannot be said that women were looked upon with equal consideration. The Oriental idea of women in general, as domestic animals whose duty it was to minister to the wants and pleasures of their master and superior, lordly man, was but slowly vanis.h.i.+ng, and many centuries of suffering, experience, and education were to intervene before saner and truer notions could prevail. Lorenzo de' Medici, in writing of a beautiful and talented woman, makes the following statement: ”Her understanding was superior to her s.e.x, but without the appearance of arrogance or presumption; and she avoided an error too common among women, who, when they think themselves sensible, become for the most part insupportable.” It is evident that if women were generally held in as high esteem as men, it is altogether unlikely that the expression ”superior to her s.e.x” would have been employed, and the latter part of the sentence leads to the further inference that pretentious and pedantic women of the kind referred to were not altogether uncommon at this time.

No better ill.u.s.tration of the relative position of women in society can be found than in one of the letters received by Lorenzo from his wife, who was a member of the old and proud Orsini family, which was much more aristocratic than his own. She addresses him by the term _Magnifice Conjux_, which certainly does not betoken a very great degree of intimacy between husband and wife; and the letter concerns the unbearable conduct of the poet Poliziano, who was then an inmate of their house and the private teacher of their children. It seems that he had persecuted her with his attentions, and she is led to protest against his continued employment. In spite of her protest, however, she meekly adds: ”Know, I should say to you, that if you desire him to remain, I shall be very content, although I have endured his uttering to me a thousand villainies. If this is with your permission, I am patient, but I cannot believe such a thing.” Lorenzo's behavior upon the receipt of this letter will be of interest and will throw much light upon the question involved. Did he burn with indignation at this story of Poliziano's disgraceful conduct and did he dismiss him from his service forthwith as one unworthy of his trust? By no means. The children were soon after taken away from their mother's supervision and sent off to a villa not far from Florence, where they were put entirely under the control of the man who had just insulted their mother! Furthermore, Boccaccio wrote, at a somewhat earlier date it is true, but in a state of society which differed little from that under discussion, that women were of little real consequence in the world, and that ”since but few good ones are to be found among them, they are to be avoided altogether.”

[Ill.u.s.tration 2: _ITALIAN WEDDING COSTUMES AND CUSTOMS, FIFTEENTH CENTURY After a contemporary painting in the Guanazzi Gallery, Florence.

Represents nearly all that was known of the civil n.o.ble life at the beginning of the fifteenth century. The instruments of the musicians, who are seated on a slight elevation, bear representations of the old arms of the Florentine Republic (red fleur-de-lis on a silver field). In the background is seen the baptistery. The bride is clothed in a robe of black velvet, with gold embroideries. Her hand is in that of her husband, who, according to the mode, is bareheaded. After the wedding ma.s.s, he receives his guests before the door of his house._]

The position occupied by women in the eyes of the law is somewhat more difficult to determine, but it may be said with certainty that they took no part in the public duties of life and seem to have manifested no yearnings in that direction. They did not vote or hold public office, and would no doubt have looked inquiringly and without comprehension at anyone who proposed such possibilities. Women were evidently being s.h.i.+elded and protected as much as possible; property was rarely held by them in their own names, and the laws appear to have been made for the men almost exclusively. It will be remembered, perhaps, that when Dante was banished from Florence, his wife was allowed to continue her residence in that city without molestation, and was even able to save much of their property from confiscation and devote it to the education of their children. Later on, when Carlo Strozzi was sent away in exile, his family was not disturbed in the least, and it was during his absence from the city that his daughter Maddalena was married to Luchino Visconti in the midst of most brilliant ceremonies. Guests were invited from all the north of Italy, there were horseraces and tournaments, and the whole function was one of great pomp and brilliancy. The brothers and grown sons of exiled citizens were never accorded such consideration, and it is but fair to a.s.sume that the popular sentiment of the time demanded this exceptional treatment for the women. At one time it was even held to be against the Florentine statutes to banish a woman; in 1497, at the time of a conspiracy to restore the banished Piero de' Medici to power, his sister, though proved to have conspired in equal measure with the men, was not given an equal measure of punishment; she was merely kept in seclusion for a period at the palace of Guglielmo de' Pazzi, and was then set at liberty through the influence of Francesco Valori, to whom it seemed unworthy to lay hands upon a woman.

In the midst of this exciting and excited world, it may well be imagined that the pa.s.sions were strong and that women of charm and beauty were able to exercise no little influence upon the men who came within their power. Never, perhaps, in the history of modern civilization has the aesthetic instinct of a people been so thoroughly aroused as it was in Italy at this time, and the almost pagan love of beauty which possessed them led to many extravagances in their sentimental conceptions. As Lorenzo de' Medici was the most powerful and distinguished Italian of his time, so may he be termed its representative lover, for his excursions into the land of sentiment may be considered as typical of his day and generation. The first pa.s.sion of his heart was purely subjective and artificial, the result of a forcing process which had been induced by the power of brotherly love. It so happened that Lorenzo's brother Giuliano, who was a.s.sa.s.sinated later by the Pazzi, loved, very tenderly, a lady named Simonetta, reputed to be the most beautiful woman in all Florence; so great was her fame that she was quite generally spoken of as _la bella Simonetta_, and the artist Botticelli, who had an eye for a pretty woman, has left us a portrait which vouches for her charms in no uncertain way. She was but a fragile flower, however, and died in the bloom of youth, mourned by her lover with such genuine grief that, with one impulse, all sought to bring him consolation. Letters of condolence were written in prose and verse, sonnets were fairly showered upon him, and Greek and Latin were used as often as Italian in giving expression to the universal sorrow. But how all this affected Lorenzo, and what inspiration it gave to his muse, he had best relate in his own words, for the tale is not devoid of romance, and he alone can do it justice:

”A young lady of great personal charm happened to die at Florence; and as she had been very generally admired and beloved, so her death was as generally lamented. Nor was this to be marvelled at, for she possessed such beauty and such engaging manners that almost every person who had any acquaintance with her flattered himself that he had obtained the chief place in her affections. Her sad death excited the extreme regret of her admirers; and as she was carried to the place of burial, with her face uncovered, those who had known her in life pressed about her for a last look at the object of their adoration, and then accompanied her funeral with their tears. On this occasion, all the eloquence and all the wit of Florence were exerted in paying due honors to her memory, both in verse and prose. Among the rest, I, also, composed a few sonnets, and, in order to give them greater effect, I tried to convince myself that I too had been deprived of the object of my love, and to excite in my own mind all those pa.s.sions which might enable me to move the affections of others.”

In this attempt to put himself in the place of another, Lorenzo de'

Medici began to wonder how it would seem to have such grief to bear on his own account; and then his thoughts went still further afield, and he found himself speculating as to whether or not another lady could be found of the same merit and beauty as the lamented Simonetta. In the midst of the great number of those who were writing eulogistic poetry in this lady's honor, Lorenzo began to feel that the situation lacked distinction, and he was not slow to realize what great reputation might be acquired by the lucky mortal who could unearth another divinity of equal charm. For some time he tried in vain, and then suddenly success crowned his efforts, and he has told us in what manner. ”A public festival was held in Florence, to which all that was n.o.ble and beautiful in the city resorted. To this I was brought by some of my companions (I suppose as my destiny led) against my will, for I had for some time past avoided such exhibitions; or if at times I had attended them, it proceeded rather from a compliance with custom than from any pleasure I experienced in them. Among the ladies there a.s.sembled, I saw one of such sweet and charming manners that I could not help saying, as I looked at her, 'If this person were possessed of the delicacy, the understanding, and the accomplishments of her who is lately dead, most certainly she excels her in the charm of her person.' Resigning myself to my pa.s.sion, I endeavored to discover, if possible, how far her manners and conversation agreed with her appearance; and here I found such an a.s.semblage of extraordinary endowments that it is difficult to say whether she excelled more in person or in mind. Her beauty was, as I have said before, astonis.h.i.+ng. She was of a just and proper height. Her complexion was extremely fair, but not pale, blooming, but not ruddy.

Her countenance was serious without being severe, mild and pleasant without levity or vulgarity. Her eyes were sparkling, but without indication of pride or conceit. Her whole figure was so finely proportioned that amongst other women she appeared with superior dignity, yet free from the least degree of formality or affectation. In walking or in dancing, or in other exercises which display the person, every motion was elegant and appropriate. Her sentiments were always just and striking and have furnished me material for some of my sonnets; she always spoke at the proper time, and always to the purpose, so that nothing could be added, nothing taken away.... To recount all her excellencies would far exceed my present limits, and I shall therefore conclude with affirming that there was nothing which could be desired in a beautiful and accomplished woman which was not in her most abundantly found. By these qualities, I was so captivated that not a power or faculty of my body or mind remained any longer at liberty, and I could not help considering the lady who had died as the star of Venus, which at the approach of the sun is totally overpowered and extinguished.”

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